Quiet
by MyGildedCage
Summary: Sometimes quiet is something you seek; sometimes it is something you run from. Long developement...Harry Rescued by Snape. Abuse, H/C, M/M, etc. starts slow and in snippets the chapters will get longer.
1. Quiet

**Quiet**

Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and friends are in no way mine nor do I make any money on them. The plot is mine however.

This will be a long developing story if everything goes as planned. Sorry this is short it is just a teaser/prologue.

**Part 1**

The sun beamed down and caressed his face like the hand of a mother, warm and tender. Under his hands he could feel the itchy cool blades of grass and clover. On his head lay a wreath of marigolds picked and braided together in a fit of boredom. None of the other boys understood him and he was often alone. Even if they did understand him they wouldnt come near him to try and be friends for fear of his disgustingly fat cousin. Harry was alone. He was always alone.

Recess was almost over he realized with a start. He sat up; he should have started walking back towards the playground about five minutes earlier. Harry just hoped the teacher had lost track of time and that he wouldnt get into trouble for wandering away. He had just needed a minutes peace in his messed up world, just a moment to think and clear his head before having to return to reality.

Harry ran as quickly as his little legs would carry him thru the trees and bramble, being much less careful on his way back than he was getting to the clearing. By the time the little boy had made it back to his third grade class the students were already sitting at their desks. Dudley smirked broadly as the teacher turned towards Harry and scowled.

Potter I think you should come with me to the principals office. She glanced at the cuts on Harrys face, caused by thick foliage, and then glared at the insipid yellow flowers on the boys head. Throw those things on your head in the garbage before we go. She held out the waste basket. Harry bowed his head took the little wreath in his fingers and placed it in the trash mournfully.

They hurried along to the neighboring class and asked the fourth grade teacher to look after Ms. Cunnings class for a moment, as she had a problem to deal with. Harry bowed his head even lower at this. He hadnt meant to be a problem and now she was going to punish him. He only hoped she wouldnt call his Aunt Petunia. Harry shivered at the idea. Nothing good would come of that.

He followed along behind the old woman at a brisk pace with his head down only a few feet behind as they entered the office. The principal was standing there waiting for them. Apparently he had already been informed of the issue. Harry knew he shouldnt have gone off the playground, and he knew it was dangerous to be so far from his teacher and class mates, he was seven but not stupid.

He also knew if he had stayed with the other children Dudley would have had a group of them working him over with their little fists and boots before you could blink; Harry already had enough bruises at the moment. If he had known he would be caught he never would have disobeyed, but those few minutes of quiet were worth every second of the beating he would get. It would be no different than any other except this time there would be a reason behind it.


	2. Noise

Quiet

Harry Potter/Severus Snape

This will be a long developing story if everything goes as planned. Sorry this is short it is just a teaser/prologue.

Part 2

A small boy sat huddled. The empty light socket dangled down from the ceiling. Had it been filled and lit the visage would have been no less depressing. In the perfect house of number 4 Privet Drive curled up in a cupboard there sat a secret. A tiny bruised child leaned back on his cot, his boney back scraping against the peeling green paint. This was his bedroom, as the scrawled crayon words above the door attested to.

_BANG _

_BANG_

Harry jumped and then breathed out angrily when he realized it was Dudley thumping on the little white door to his cupboard.

Freaks being loud again mummy! Dudley smirked through the vent, fat face blocking the only source of light.

Dudley be a good boy and bring him in the kitchen for mummy. Light suddenly flooded the dingy room and Harry moved to cover his face. Dudley merely smirked and grabbed for his small cousins arm. Meaty dirty looking hands wrapped all the way around Harrys upper arm. Harry winced as he was pulled out of his prison by the other boy, bruises already blooming across arm and shoulder. Harrys head made a thud as it banged into the door frame.

Stars danced in front of Harrys eyes and his vision swam as he was tossed in front of his aunt. He kept his eyes trained on hers as she addressed him.

Boy, I told you what would happen if you didnt stay quiet. Thank God your Uncle isnt home. Go outside and start on the garden, it will serve as a reminder to stay quiet. Have a glass of water, and there are some left over apple slices from my Dudders snack. Harrys gaze followed her boney finger as it pointed to the counter and widened, it was nearly a whole apple. Petunias lips thinned and she walked out of the room without another word.

Harry ate slowly and sipped water between each bite of browned apple as he sat on the concrete steps. The sun was high in the sky and hot. School would be out soon for summer; Harry wasnt looking forward to being stuck on Privet for several months without the several hours break of school

Harry had only eaten a few bites before he was full so he wrapped the apple up in the paper towel and stuffed it into his pants pocket to eat later. He hoped he could get back to his cupboard before Vernon got home and found the food on him. That wouldnt end well.

The boy stood up slowly and stretched, he made sure to finish the water in spite of his swollen belly. Harry walked over to the side yard and kneeled to the earth. He pulled at the weeds angrily.

_Dudley never had to work outside, lucky jerk._


	3. Heat

Quiet  
Harry Potter/Severus Snape

This will be a long developing story if everything goes as planned. Sorry this is short it is just a teaser/prologue.

PART THREE

The sun was hot on his back, and his hands were tender and raw, but the Garden looked beautiful. It was one of the few chores Harry didn't hate so much. At least he got to enjoy the fruits of his labor some. The neighbors occasionally talked to him when the Dursley's vehicle was out of the drive. A young couple to the right of number 4 when you were facing the houses from the street, the man was probably in his thirties and his wife was in her mid-twenties.

She was a sweet woman; Harry thought that if he had a mother she would be something like this. Mrs. Collins would bring Harry apples and bananas from her kitchen around lunch time if no one else was home to feed Harry. She was concerned about the small boy, and though he said he was almost ten she thought he looked like a kindergartener. She was a teacher, and she loved children.

Harry would never take a break in his gardening or fence painting to play with her, and she admired his work ethic. He would however sit and talk, and was surprised that she would smile at everything he had to say and thought his "imagination" was fantastic. The Dursleys usually punished him for any thoughts outside the norm. Harry wouldn't tell Mrs. Collins that of course, but he was happy that she listened to everything else he had to say.

When Harry got up one morning he heard his aunt on the phone. His cupboard was surprisingly unlocked and he tiptoed out into the bathroom to wash up before anyone else could realize what he was doing. He took count of any sprains or bruising and redressed in his clothes, they were his only set.

Harry walked into the kitchen just in time to see Petunia hang up the receiver. She glared at him.

"It's your fault you know. You shouldn't get close to anyone boy, they all die." Harry stood confused a minute and just looked up at his aunt.

"Mrs. Collins died in child birth. You thought I didn't know she was your friend didn't you? You fucking freak. She's dead now, I hope you're happy." Harry looked stunned; he felt like he had been hit by a bus. His fault, it had been his fault? What had he done? Was it his freakiness?

Harry suddenly remembered all of his stories he had told, the imagination that Mrs. Collins had loved. His freakiness had killed her and her unborn baby girl. Harry broke down into tears, wet streams made their way down his face.

Suddenly he was on the floor, his bare knees buzzing from the impact with the cold linoleum. The back of his head was throbbing. He knew it was Vernon who had struck him, the class ring on his right hand always made a special impact on his skull. Harry put a hand to the back of his head and it came away red. He turned around to look at his Uncle and was throw several feet to the side by a boot to his stomach.

"Boys don't cry you freak. Quit this pussy bull-shit and make breakfast." Vernon pulled him up by his collar, the fabric ripped under the pressure. He was thrown down in front of the stove. He didn't dare take a second to collect himself he moved to the cupboard and pulled out pancake mix before going to the refrigerator and pulling out the necessary ingredients.

The entire time he cooked tears ran unchecked down his thin cheeks. It was his fault.


	4. Time

**Time**

**These will be short at first just to start the story off. There will be many chapters hopefully.**

Tink

The sound of heavy droplets banging on the rusted tin roof.

Tock

A clock near by was ticking away the seconds.

Clang

Hand made wind chimes banging in the howling wind, this only added to the music of a summers afternoon. Other sounds barely filtered through. The whistle of a tea pot downstairs, giggling in the lower rooms as toads croaked and gnomes squealed in the puddles. He was sitting in a violent orange room thrown into shadow by the summer storm raging outside. His eyes were obscured by wet hair and glasses which reflected the water running down a grimy window. It was barely seven in the morning and the sun was just up behind the black clouds; the only other occupant in the room lay fast asleep in a tangle of hand knit blankets.

The boy closed his eyes briefly and sighed heavily pulling his sleeves into his hands and adjusting his glasses before crossing his arms on the window sill and settling in to watch the storm. Though there was a chill coming through the cracks in the window frame Harry didn't care, his mind was full to the brim and he needed to sort it out before going back to Hogwarts later that day.

Though it was early and he was tired, Harry was glad he had gotten any sleep at all the night before. By the end of the day Harry would truly be a seventh year, it would be his last year in what he considered his home, and he didn't know what to think about it. On one hand he never had to go back to the Dursley's, but on the other he wouldn't be able to go back to Hogwarts. Well that was unless he decided to teach, Harry knew it was only because Albus wanted to protect him longer. He also knew that with the prophecy there was no guarantee to safety until the other was dead.

Albus was a sweet old man but sometimes his meddling got to be too much to bare. Stuck in a gilded cage with broken bars. Barely safe from the proverbial cat but with no escape from the seeking claws he was beating himself against the jagged bars. Of course no one knew of that part. Harry shook his head and water droplets splayed into the air and splashing down into a now empty fish bowl. Harry was tired, his body was exhausted from his morning run. A flash of lightning caught his attention and the brunette scowled darkly through the window at the terrified gnomes below, useless beasts.

Chime

There was the clock he had been waiting for, time to get up. His friend stirred briefly to the right of him mumbling stupidly about a lion. Harry cast a cleansing charm on himself as he looked around nervously. He had been seventeen a week now and still wasn't used to the freedom that came with age in the Wizarding world. It was precisely this freedom that made it necessary for Dumbledore to remove him from Privet Drive only a few hours prior. The headmaster wanted Harry in a place where his magic usage could be monitored.

Chime

The last chime died away and Harry slipped under the covers and threw his glasses on to the dresser pretending to be asleep as Mrs. Weasley came in to rouse the boys for breakfast.


	5. Sunlight

Sunlight.

That's what it was that made summer so wonderful. Sunlight, currently warm and caressing his face as he drifted in the wind. Long black eyelashes lay on his freckled-lightly burned cheeks. Stray fringe brushed back and forth along his forehead following the patterned shadow ghosts of fat leafs as they swayed to and fro with the warm breeze flowing around the burrow. The breeze came from the sea somewhere far off from the village down the hill. His hands tingled with the warm light and cool shade as the leaves rustled over head.

The hammock was just perfect. Hung between two massive oaks close to the forest on the far side of the meadow; it was choked with violets, daisies and clover soft and green underfoot. The little crooked house just visible and the voices of the large family, not his own, dancing on the air back to him. Harry hummed and removed his glasses.

Harry smiled vaguely, rubbed his eyes and replaced the spectacles inspecting the tape in the middle. He repaired them often and wondered even more often why he didn't just chuck them. McGonagall told him he could only repair hem so much before the material simply crumbled. He supposed the same thing had happened to the Weasley's Burrow. Harry chuckled.

Burrow, it fit the rabbit like family well, but Harry supposed if he loved someone as much as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley loved one another he'd wouldn't mind a large brood. It was a god thing the Dursley's only had one child then. There was no love lost there.

He twisted his hand into the ropes beneath him. Tight, they rubbed raw on his tender sun parched skin. He hissed and twisted a little further. His eyes clenched shut as he focused on it all.

"HEY HARRY!" Harry sat up released his grip and popped his eyes open forcing a smile. He watched in mild amusement as his friends ran across the field, flowers kicking up around their feet. Yellow roses were braided deep and plentiful among Hermione's dark locks. Ginny sported soft white violets in wreaths on her head and neck. They looked like nymphs. Ron followed laughing long lumbering steps catching him up to the girls.


	6. Touch

Touch

Lingering across his back nearly broke him from the inside. Molly was hugging him, tears on her face as Harry stood still, frozen. He was dreaming, this was a nightmare, he'd been told he could visit with them, told he could sty this summer. No need to go back to the Dursley's so why were they taking him. Why was Snape steering him that direction. Pushing gently on his shoulder towards the Floo.

Fear wet his eyes and his skin had gone cold. Goose pimples rising on his arms and he could only lok ahead into the green flames. He was held close to something scratchy, it smelled of something burnt, Harry just kept staring. What was Vernon going to do? He had been told not to come back. He was a nuisance, useless. Gods why were they doing this? Were they that stupid? Did they think that this was a GOOD idea? Meddling old bastard.

A swoosh of hot ash flowed up around them, the heat poured down his throat and made his eyes close as he spun in a nauseating whirlwind of noise and green light. Suddenly it was over and hard ground found his unsteady feet, his knees bent and he fell to the carpet, once white.

'Oh hell' he thought.

He looked up and saw the smirk on Vernon's face behind his horrified housewife and stupid gaping maw on his obese son's face. Harry stood stiffly, knocked forward by the weight of his Professor's hand on his back.

"Really Potter you would think you were raised by pigs the way you flop through the network." Harry closed his eyes under his fringe and with his head still bent towards Vernon apologized to the Potions Master.

"Sorry Sir, I will try harder next time Sir." Vernon just kept smirking at him.

"Thank you Snape for bringing Harry back to us for the rest of his Holidays. I'm sure you are very busy and we will try not to take up any more time than necessary." Petunia spit through her stretched smile. She didn't want that ugly man in her house any longer than necessary. Harry had to get started on that carpet right away she feared or a sooty gray would cling to her mantle for the rest of time. She was sure of it.


	7. Lies

Lies.

That's all adults could understand apparently, or all they told him anyways. He was used to it but it didn't hurt any less. In fact it hurt worse. This time they spewed from the adults he was supposed to trust. The good guys apparently lied more than the bad.

Harry wasn't feeling good. Correction he felt really sick. He hadn't had anything to eat for breakfast. Or maybe it was lunch time now. He wasn't sure. His head felt sore, and his eyes just didn't want to focus. He sat in the shed a moment to catch his breath and steal a drink from the hose. His knuckles were red with carpet burn. He had scrubbed and scrubbed at the carpet. It wasn't clean yet, he would have to bleach it tomorrow.

His back ached from bending over the garden flowers. It had only been a couple weeks since he had left, how could so many dandelions be rooted already? Harry suspected that was Dudley's fault.

"Bastard."

Had it been yesterday that the sun had felt so good on his face, so soft and warm and light and so fucking pure? Today it felt nothing short of horrendous. It hurt to hit his tender skin, His freckles now hid beneath a deep burn, his back stuck to his shirt and dark marks show through the ratty white t-shirt. His hands were cracking from the drought along with ragged flower beds. Nothing grew besides the weeds which seemed to thrive. At this point he wondered why weed the garden at all; why not mow the damned thing down and start over? But that would defeat the purpose. This was punishment. Punishment for leaving, punishment for returning. Punishment for living.

That is what Harry existed for. To be punished. It was even more horrifying when he liked it, but that only happened when he punished himself.

Uncle Vernon wanted him to like it. To like it but not to like it, he wanted him to hate it. But like it. It confused Harry. His uncle would tug t him and punch him. He would kick and yell and Harry would squirm and scream. The pain would come and Harry would melt away. He could forget about it until Vernon tried to make it feel nice.

But Harry never responded. He stared, far off and away and glassy eyed. He was a pretty rag doll tossed around the room. Head hitting dressers and walls and he would crash back to reality when his uncle forgot the insult and remembered the restraints. Hard leather twisted around his wrists bringing Harry a point to focus on as it cut into the flesh and rubbed raw the skin, burning and stinging and feeling,

Vernon liked to scratch at the boys chest as he rammed in. Harry bit his lip and tried not to count the ins and outs or remember to count the number of times this had happened each year and add those up to find a total.

He could detach himself if he gave it a number. He gave it many. The number of others to go to the hospital for this a year, to jail. The number to die. The percent attacked by strangers, coerced by friends or brutalized by family. Harry felt better as a statistic, he never had to think about the press, or the moral implications. He didn't have to think about the aftermath and the scrubbing and crying and nightmares.

Objectively Harry had to give his Uncle credit at least he had waited until he was no longer a little boy. Vernon could be called many things but not a pedophile.


	8. Pill

"God, your ass boy it's so fucking tight!" Sweat dripped down Harry's face with the effort not to scream. "…such a good slut aren't you boy? Love having my cock shoved deep in your ass don't you, you fucking faggot?" The fat man growled in his left ear as his head was yanked backwards by his messy black hair.

The sweat on his face mingled with tears and blood. The concoction ran down his jaw and over puffy yellowed bruises before sloshing off onto his bed linens, or what one might call linens but were just tattered bits of fabric.

In and out, in and out stretching and pulling and burning its length into his memory. The bed springs squeaked out their protest in his ear with every jab. He could feel the crust of blood on his thighs cracking with each brutal thrust. The weight of the other man on his back was a claustrophobic feeling and his ribs groaned under the pressure. His chest was suddenly pushed further into the springs of his bed as his hips were lifted up in a sudden change of position.

'He only did it to cause a new rip, the fucking bastard!' Harry thought with despair. He couldn't think of this man as his uncle now, he just couldn't. It would be his undoing and he knew it. This was just a man, and this was just another form of punishment, he was gay and this man knew it. Harry didn't know how he knew it but that didn't matter much at this point. It was not his uncle, it couldn't be. Uncles aren't supposed to do this to their nephews.

"Fuuuuck…" The man on top of him ground out through clenched teeth as he shuddered out his release into the poor boy beneath him. He held still a long time as Harry just wished it was over and he could be alone. He hurt all over, and felt filthy and torn.

Vernon finally moved off of the teen and wiped his hands and cock off on Harry's back and bed clothes. "That's a good boy; maybe you're useful for something after all." He grinned as Harry moved to curl on his side. Vernon spit in his face after he pulled his trousers back up and walked to the door. He shut it quietly and Harry could barely hear him walk across the hall to the bathroom to wash away his sins.

Harry lay very still hoping in the back of his mind that he could just disappear.

He woke hours later before the sun was to rise with a jolt and shiver. He turned slowly from his side to his front hoping to roll his way out of bed. His chest felt tender and hot, dark lines of red and the occasional green stood out against his bony ribs. The mattress was bare where the sheets had been pulled and twisted the night before. It felt scratchy against his raw skin.

He rolled slowly on to his knees, crawling forward to the bucket in the corner where the Boy-Who-Lived promptly emptied what little bile was in his stomach. He sat back and grabbed at an oversized gray shirt from the floor covering his body in it as he hugged his legs to his battered chest. His body radiated pain with every heart beat. He felt the back of his head where he had been slammed against the wall the night before and felt a nasty crusty bump.

His wrists were bruised and his right one looked particularly bad off.

"Serves me right for struggling…" he mumbled angrily. He knew he was wrong but also knew if he hadn't struggled so hard he could have saved himself some energy and pain. Harry bent his bloody bruised face to his knees and cried great silent hacking sobs. He stayed that way until Vernon left for work several hours later. No one came up to ask Harry to make breakfast that morning. It was impossible for the rest of the household to have not heard the brutal beating the night before. He only hoped the rest of his family had been spared the sound of the bed springs or of the small cot hitting the wall. He doubted it.

His aunt knocked on the door at some time around noon and passed a hot bowl of soup through the cat flap. A first for the stern woman, but Harry was dealing with a lot of firsts in his life recently. The movement of the soup into the room was followed closely by the clicking of several locks and a soft shaky voice.

"Boy, Harry, why don't you take a shower? There is still some hot water left and I placed some clean clothes on the counter for you." Harry sighed and made a nonsense sound she must have taken for approval because her light footsteps could be heard going down the stairs.

September seemed to take forever to arrive for Harry and the Dursley's. The atmosphere in the little white house on Privet drive was electric with anxiety. Harry continued his chores as usual but with a new intensity that only comes from someone trying to escape reality. He walked through the house on tip toe trying his best to avoid anyone's attention.

His aunt had taken to doing his chore list on his worst days and slipping food and bowls of warm water under Harry's door to wash with when she couldn't get him into the shower. She passed the occasional box of butterfly bandages under the door as well, which Harry scowled at.

'She doesn't get it.' He would think to himself. Harry would never be able to use those bandages because if Vernon saw them his punishment for "stealing" would be worse than his punishment for existing.

The food was appreciated when it wasn't being squirreled away under the loose floorboard. Harry didn't trust the charade of guilt from his aunt to last too long, better to be safe than sorry.

The head of the Dursley household was particularly edgy. He would come home from work and act like he could almost smell that Harry hadn't been working all day, but with no proof and his wife telling him otherwise he couldn't punish his nephew for not working. This didn't mean the punishments ceased. In fact Vernon would find reasons for Harry to be punished nearly daily, if he wasn't punishing him for speaking out of turn it was for "tripping" and breaking things. He was always particularly cruel on Wednesdays. Those were the nights he visited Harry's room.

On Harry's sixteenth birthday Vernon made a special visit. Harry knew he was in trouble the day before when he heard his uncle had paid for Petunia and Dudley to go to the beach on holiday for the weekend. His aunt was reluctant but Dudley seemed excited to get out of the house. He had been strange around Harry since the first night Harry had been raped. Dudley seemed to want to say something all of the time but remained silent and tried to spend the night at Piers house most nights. He still bullied the neighborhood kids but it was a little lackluster compared to his old bullying.

Vernon sited that he had just too much work at Grunning's and that he wouldn't be going to the beach with his wife and son. In fact he said that was the whole reason to send them away. Of course the boy had to stay and look after things and make sure that Vernon ate. Petunia had no argument as to why Harry should go with them as he had never gone on holiday with any of the family before.

So with Petunia and Dudley packed up for their weekend trip she kissed Vernon on the cheek before he went off to work that Friday morning. As the car pulled out of the driveway she turned to Harry and frowned.

"Come on boys into the kitchen with you we still have a couple hours until we leave. " When Harry scampered over to the stove nervously petunia's frown deepened before she smiled benignly at her nephew.

"No Harry, why don't you take a seat with Dudley and I'll fix you both a nice big breakfast." Harry was stunned; he couldn't remember a time when he had been allowed at the table. Even in his highchair days they placed him in a separate room to eat.

Half an hour later his mouth was watering at the sight of a stack of pancakes the size of his head. Petunia handed him a glass of milk and he nearly fainted. He had never been allowed anything but water before.

"Look Harry I know we haven't been close, or even civil with you before this point and I feel guilty for not doing more for you." Harry scowled at the gross understatement. "I would like to say I love you and all but your magic is still something I believe to be unnatural. I thought we were doing the right thing by trying to force you to be normal, but Vernon has gone too far." She looked about to cry and Harry wanted nothing more at that moment than to reach out and slap her. How dare she be upset after the fact, how dare she be allowed to feel sorry now?

"Harry, I don't know where you hide food but wherever that is put some of those pancakes and a few of the apples from the fridge. I don't know what Vernon is planning but I don't want to leave here without helping a little." At this she handed him a little orange bottle. "These will put you out of It if you need, my valium, they should make this weekend a little more bearable."

"Thank you." He said shortly coveting the pills. He glanced at Dudley who was eating his breakfast very slowly, obviously trying to ignore the whole ordeal.

"I can't do any more for you I'm afraid, your Headmaster made it perfectly clear you had no other place to stay and that he wouldn't move you without just cause. I just couldn't tell them what Vernon did. You understand don't you?" She was pleading with him, asking forgiveness from her nephew for being a coward.


End file.
